


higher flew the falcon

by kurgaya



Category: Bleach
Genre: Accidental Plot, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Asexual Character, Banter, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, The Author Regrets Everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-12 00:04:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5646715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurgaya/pseuds/kurgaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"That," Ichigo says dumbly. "Is a polar bear."</p><p>"Do you think it's tame?" Inoue asks.</p><p>“Maybe we should push Ichigo over there and find out,” Ishida replies, pushing at his glasses in a nervous habit. “I suppose the prince regent likes to keep his options open."</p>
            </blockquote>





	higher flew the falcon

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://underworldwrites.tumblr.com/post/113901190301/oh-god-royal-aus) prompt on tumblr.
> 
> This definitely isn't a drabble any more. /SIGHS HEAVILY.

 

Weeks have passed by the time they reach the borders of Junrinan, and they only have further to go. Thick, soldiering woodland guards the kingdom’s edge, their vigil marking the beginning of a labyrinth through the seasons. Trees proud and autumn gold offer no guidance at the entryway to the kingdom, and Ichigo is sure that they will find no help as they breach the forest peace, the amber leaves slowly fading into silvery gold. It may still be winter once they reach the kingdom’s heart, but they say it is always winter there - perpetually, elegantly cold.

Ichigo pulls his furs close, hoping to trap the heat while he can. His horse whinnies beneath him, uncertain of the enclosing wood; the prince offers a comforting pat, urging it on, but he shares the animal’s fear, feeling it coiled and churning within his gut.

“There’s should be a town about four days ride from here,” Rukia calls from the front of the party, somehow managing to keep track of all her maps even on horseback. She’s petite even on the back of such a magnificent creature, but Ichigo has known her for years enough not to dare challenge her height, navigation, or swordsmanship.

“We might not be able to take the horses further than that, unless there’s a trail to the capital,” Rukia continues, frowning at the scrolls balanced precariously in her lap. A fine, white scabbard hangs at her side, and though it bumps her thigh with every trot and canter, neither she nor the horse seem to notice.

“There is, surely?” Inoue asks, mounted far far to Ichigo’s left. She flusters as all eyes turn to her, twirling a strand of ginger hair around a finger. “I mean - they can't do _all_ of their trade by sea, can they?”

“Most of it,” Ishida says to Ichigo’s right. “Junrinan is a sparsely populated kingdom - towns are rare and villages more so; their capital is the largest settlement by far. Most people live within the districts of the capital.”

“I bet they use polar bears for transportation,” the youngest of their group perks up, sighing dreamily from within the depths of her fur coat.

Ichigo laughs, some of his nervousness receding at his little sister’s childish hope. “Come on Yuz,” he says, reprimanding her fondly. “What are you - twelve?”

“Come on Ichigo,” she shoots back, smiling at his exaggerated pout. “What are you - fifty? You're not even _married_ yet.”

“Hey - we agreed not to talk about that!”

Yuzu sticks out her tongue. Ichigo does the same. Their horses trot so close that the siblings could knock each other from their mounts if they truly desired.

“Children,” Rukia groans. “I despair the day you ascend the throne, Ichigo.”

“Nah, you don’t,” Ichigo calls back, grinning at the warrior’s questioning eyebrow. “It’s me or my dad, isn’t it? Can you really say I’m worse than Isshin Shi -?”

“ _No_ ,” she interrupts, voice vehement. Ishida and Inoue echo her, the latter laughing softly, and together the three guards all cringe at the insult against their king.

At the back of the party, the fourth and final guard speaks up from his silent sentry. “Ichigo will make a good king,” Chad says in his grumbling tone, sounding far less enthusiastic than he is probably feeling. “He has us to guide him, of course.”

“Keep him in line, more like,” Rukia says, and she smiles before returning her attention to the road ahead.

“Hear, hear!” Yuzu cries, sharing a laugh with Inoue. “What could go wrong?”

“ _Everything_ ,” Ichigo’s friends unanimously reply.

“Damn you all,” Ichigo curses, scowling at their titters of amusement. “But not you, Yuzu, I love you way too much.”

“Favouritism isn’t a trait befitting a king,” Ishida mumbles, mocking the prince with a disapproving lift of his brow.

“Go to hell,” Ichigo snaps, prompting laughter all around.

They ride on, their hearts lifted from the impending weight of winter and snow by the chorus of banter and cheer. Dense, the forest creeps in around them as they journey, but they press on behind Rukia’s assured guidance; there is a kingdom awaiting their arrival, after all, and while Ichigo dreads this meeting, he is bound to a promise to attend.

(“ _Promise me_ , Ichigo,” Karin had said, waggling a threatening finger at him. His sister’s dark hair had framed a sharp, terrifying expression, and Ichigo had been helpless but to whimper from beneath his blankets and pillows.

“Promise me that you’ll get your _goddamn head_ out of your _goddamn arse_ and actually go and _meet_ this guy. God forbid you don’t meet him until your wedding day and then don’t _like him_ \- then you’ll be stuck, you fool.”

Ichigo vaguely remembers mumbling something pathetic and offended in response, but his sister had put her foot down and that had been that).

It isn’t that he doesn’t _want_ to meet his fiancé, but rather…

Ichigo heaves a heavy sigh and shoves a hand through his fringe. Ice dislodges from his hood and tumbles down his back, and Ichigo tugs at his gloves, desperate for warm weather in this endless land of snow. He misses Karakura already; misses the familiarity and the steady, mild sun. Junrinan is as opposite as can be - isolated, desolate, and cold - but he hopes there will be warmth within the palace, if not in temperature, then hopefully in heart.

His fiancé is an attractive man, if the sketches and paintings that Ichigo has received reflect the truth. Never have they met in person, and seldom have they communicated beyond a handful of letters, kingdoms and duties keeping them apart. Ichigo has no idea if they’ll get along, but he supposes that’s what this whole trip is for - testing the waters, as such. They may have been engaged for over ten years now - a formality, mostly, and a promise of protection and resources in a time of need - but they could scrap the contract if necessary. Karakura has recovered from its hardship and Junrinan has strength in its seclusion, so neither kingdom has desperate need for this coupling, but a wedding would provide stability, land, and fortune, and what monarch has no need for those?

The town at the edge of the forest turns out to be little more than an outpost, and it soon becomes apparent that leaving the horses is necessary for the final leg of their trek. The townspeople are happy to provide their services once they realise exactly who have ventured into their home, and so after a hearty meal and a long, complicated discussion of logistics and payment, Ichigo’s party are on their way.

Ishida is _not pleased_ about the sled dogs, but he is the only one.

(Ichigo may or may not spend twenty minutes rolling around with the puppies while his guards load up the luggage. Really though, the huskies don’t _mind_ ).

“It won’t be so bad,” Inoue tells the reluctant archer, absentmindedly fussing over the lead sled dog. “Rukia says we’ll reach the capital borders by nightfall.”

“I would have much preferred to travel by sea,” Ishida notes, but he mounts the sled despite his complaints, aware that his choices are limited.

“Yeah, like that would’ve happened,” Ichigo says; he understands his friend’s concerns, but unlike Junrinan, Karakura is a kingdom without direct access to the sea. “Seireitei are in charge of the ports to the south, and you know what our relationship’s like with them.”

“Mutual ignorance,” Yuzu adds cheerfully.

Ishida sighs, but seems pacified by the princess’ happy-go-lucky outlook. “I am aware. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Nah,” Ichigo says, patting the man on the shoulder. “But hey, do you know what _would_ be cool?”

“Literally everything around us?” Ishida deadpans.

Unexpected laughter rushes through Ichigo, and he grins despite the chill, the tundra, and the impending encounter with his husband-to-be. “Well - _yeah_ , but we might see some _polar bears_ on the way.”

Yuzu cheers. In the distance, Rukia’s _I can’t believe you_ rings out loud and clear.

 

 

 

For a kingdom seldom disturbed by visitors from afar, Junrinan offers a hearty welcome. Coloured by dark and burning colours as they are, it is of no surprise that the party from Karakura attract undivided attention. From the moment they step through the southern gateway into the capital’s frostbitten streets, fur-lined coats, hoods, and weather-worn scarves turn towards them, bringing whispers and stares from the curious city folk. Rukia does not allow them to dawdle, eager to see her friend and prince safely warmed by a fire in their temporary home, and the rest of Ichigo’s guards follow suit, urging the prince and princess’ inquisitive minds along.

“Don't worry Yuzu,” Inoue says, beaming from behind the weighty folds of her scarf. She beckons the princess on reluctantly, her own gaze lingering on the labyrinth of new and wonderful things that the city has to offer. “We'll have plenty of time to explore once we've settled in.”

“This is assuming that Ichigo and the prince hit it off,” Ishida comments.

“Or don't,” Rukia adds, smirking. “The king’s interested in a union, not a full-blown war.”

“I am _not_ that bad,” Ichigo insists, glowering as his friends snicker. “Chad, back me up here.”

The gigantic guard at the rear of the party raises unimpressed eyebrows into the depths of his shaggy, umber hair.

“Seireitei,” he says simply, his single visible eye revealing the smile hidden beneath his scarf. “I am not sure if King Yamamoto has forgiven you.”

“Oh they had it coming,” Ichigo grumbles over the sound of his friends’ laughter. “But it wasn't _my_ fault. They were going to have that civil war regardless of what I did.”

“And look at how _that_ turned out,” Rukia says.

“Hey!” Ichigo cries, pointing an accusing finger at her wicked smile. “You are _literally_ in no position to talk! I _saved_ your _arse_.”

“Did I _ask_ you to save my arse?”

“You could at least _pretend_ to be grateful!”

“Of course I'm grateful, you fool. But that doesn't mean I’m ever going to sing your praises like some delicate princess locked up in a _tower_ \- if you would excuse the phrase, Your Highness,” Rukia drawls, briefly resuming formality to address the princess.

Yuzu laughs, looking delighted at the flush burning on her brother’s face. “I'd say I can't believe you two still argue over this, but I can.”

“Ichigo just has a face to argue with,” Rukia deadpans. “If nothing else, I’m sure the prince regent could use it for a laugh.”

“ _Oi_! What are you implying -?

Ishida holds up a hand and Ichigo instantly falls silent, his jaw clacking together like the bite of winter in the snow. As one, the party of six focus their eyes to where the palace courtyard opens out before them, a vast, untouched plain of ice guarded by nothing more than the bitter winds of Junrinan’s winter. Carved high into the archway above them, the royal emblem bears witness to their entry into the grounds; the group incline their heads respectfully as they pass beneath it, and at the far end of the courtyard, a great shape enshrouded in snow lifts its head to watch their approach.

“That,” Ichigo says dumbly. “Is a polar bear.”

Tucked close to his side, Yuzu emits the odd, breathless squeak that women usually reserve for all things cuddly and small. She is the only one present who looks even _slightly_ thrilled at the prospect of approaching the very large, very dangerous animal; the four guards move in closer, and Ichigo wonders if Junrinan’s prince has the paperwork for incidents of distant royalty being mauled to death at the front door.

“Do you think it's tame?” Inoue asks in her typical bubbly fashion as they trek across the icy court.

“Maybe we should push Ichigo over there and find out,” Ishida replies, pushing at his glasses in a nervous habit. “I suppose the prince regent likes to keep his options open.”

“Till death do us part,” Ichigo mutters, keeping his voice low lest the listening air carry his sarcasm in through the palace walls.

The polar bear doesn't so much as twitch as they near, but its eyes are as attentive and dark as its body is lazy and cold. There is nothing about it to suggest the nature of its aggression - wild or controlled - and Ichigo holds his sister closer despite being certain that the monarch of Junrinan means them no harm.

“Karin is going to be _so_ mad when she finds out I’ve seen a polar bear,” Yuzu whispers.

“She'll be madder if it eats us,” Ichigo says.

Yuzu doesn't even _think_ about her reply. “No she won't,” she chimes, and as they pass polar bear and begin to climb the stairway to the palace’s magnificent doorway, she peers around her brother’s protective hold to give the beast a last, fleeting glance.

“Ichigo,” she says then, seeming to grow taller at his side. He blinks down at her, takes in her sombre expression, and groans _oh no_ before she even opens her mouth and says: “You _have_ to marry him now.”

 

 

 

 _Grandmotherly_ sums up Junrinan’s reigning monarch in a nutshell, and it is all Ichigo can do not to laugh as the queen totters over and fusses over each of his guards in turn.

They manage to show the same restraint when it is _his_ turn, but only just.

“Oh my how _far_ you've come,” says Queen Kotose, somehow achieving a gentle air of _sheer intimidation_ despite her dainty, five foot figure. At first glance, there seems little more to her than smiles and tiny hands of knitting needles and wool, but her eyes are sharp and endlessly blue, her wisdom an ocean stirring within a failing, elderly frame.

“I should have thought to send ahead a falcon,” the queen continues, seeming to take personal offence at the party’s reddened noses. “You'll have to forgive me for my terrible memory.”

“Please,” Ichigo says, feeling Rukia’s mental kick to remember his formalities. “It's our fault. We overestimated the journey. I apologise for arriving so unexpectedly, but we were eager to get out of the cold.”

“Of course,” the queen sighs. “You must think that you have come to such a _strange_ country. We seldom see the sun as you do; as I recall, Karakura is beautifully warm even in the winter months.”

Karakura doesn't experience the ‘winter months’ as Junrinan does, but then, that is true for all of the other kingdoms in this land.

“I'll send for some servants to deal with your luggage,” Kotose says once the introductions have drawn to a close. “I've already sent a guard in search of my grandson - my Tōshirō is ever so busy governing this country, but then he has always enjoyed a challenge.”

Here, she smiles and offers Ichigo a look he cannot discern, and that is when the doors to the throne room open once again, announcing Junrinan’s regent with a thunderous, rumbling groan.

The man who enters seems to captivate the light itself, his body slight and slender, and encompassed in the elegance of silvers and golds. The polar opposite of Ichigo in every way, Tōshirō Hitsugaya presents a formidable first impression, his strides bold and assured as he crosses the room. Short, he certainly is, scarcely inches taller than his tiny grandmother, but evanescent he is not; eyes of teal and hair a brilliant white-gold, he is winter refined into romanticism, beautiful and cold. Before him, Ichigo is the sun kissing the earth, bronze, amber, and gold, and Tōshirō’s gaze lingers on the Karakura prince just as Ichigo’s lingers in return.

Chad coughs very quietly and excuses himself and the guards, almost literally dragging their smirks and grins away.

“Grandmother, Your Highnesses,” Tōshirō says, nodding to the Kurosaki siblings (and _shit_ if his voice doesn't just _sing_ ). “I'm pleased to see that you've arrived safely.”

“No thanks to your polar bear,” Ichigo blurts before he can stop himself, enthralled by this beautiful man, and halfway out of the door Rukia smothers a curse into her hands.

Yuzu is not so fortunate, unable to mask a snort in such sophisticated company, and for the slightest of seconds Tōshirō looks so wildly out of his depth that Ichigo’s face _blazes_ in embarrassment. The prince regent composes himself without so much as a blink, but his lips twitch into a ghost of a smile as the Kurosakis fluster and burn.

 _How is it_ , Ichigo thinks madly, _that somebody so gobsmacked can look so goddamn attractive._

“I hope he didn't bother you,” Tōshirō says apologetically, appearing to scan the guests for injuries. “The bears come and go as they please, you see, and that one has frequented our front steps for so long that the servants have taken to calling him ‘Hirohito’.”

Ichigo gladly allows his surprise to replace the mortification on his face. “You mean they're not tame?” he asks, retrospectively pleased that Ishida had refrained from testing the possibility.

“Tame? No.” Tōshirō shakes his head, speaking as if he has never considered domesticating - or at the very least controlling - such dangerous animals. “Junrinan has lived alongside the polar bears for centuries now, we have no need to tame them.”

Ichigo cannot help but shared an awed glance with his sister.

 _Can we have one?_ Yuzu’s puppy-dog eyes plead.

 _Dad said bring back a husband, not a bear,_ the firm press of Ichigo’s mouth replies.

“I'll have to remember to let my guards know,” Ichigo says, addressing his fellow prince. He may _conveniently_ forget to mention this titbit of knowledge, but Rukia’s right hook is something worth fearing. “Although, they'd argue that _I'm_ the one who poses the concern.”

Tōshirō is looking more amused by the second, and for the sake of this political match (and maybe avoiding imminent death by polar bear), Ichigo hopes that's a good thing. “How so?”

“My brother is not known for his common-sense, Your Highness,” Yuzu explains cheerfully, apparently deeming it safe enough to tease said brother in the presence of Junrinan’s royalty. (Ichigo, consequently, can't risk retaliating, and perhaps that makes all the difference). “If any of our party are at risk of endangering his or herself by picking a fight with a polar bear, it will be Ichigo.”

“I see,” says Tōshirō, bright eyes watching Ichigo with such keen interest that the Karakura prince imagines there must be steam whistling from his ears. “Then I will endeavour to ensure that your stay in this kingdom does not give rise to any reckless tendencies. Come now, I will have a servant escort you to your rooms. I am certain that your guards have already settled in.”

They bid farewell to the queen, Tōshirō kissing her cheek without so much as a second thought for their audience, and then wander back out into the arching hallways to locate a servant maundering about their way. After relaying instructions, Tōshirō promises to send word to the Karakura party about dinner, and then quietly excuses himself to other duties. He slips away in the opposite direction with a light snowfall of a pace, and Ichigo watches until his fiancé is out of sight, becoming little more than a silver beacon weaving through these ancient, glacial walls.

“Well,” Yuzu says once they are in the privacy of Ichigo’s quarters. She had said nothing during their short trip from the throne room, instead letting her gaze appreciate the palace and surrounding grounds, but now she gives her brother an appraising look as he bundles himself from his layers and layers of clothes.

“He's definitely interested in you. Intellectually, I mean.”

“Really?” Ichigo says glumly, wrenching a sweatshirt over his head. He'll have to change into something befitting the dinner of their hosts, but until he adjusts to Junrinan’s weather, he would gladly remain enwrapped in blankets and coats while away from judging eyes. “I was thinking more as a source of entertainment.”

“Oh yes,” Yuzu chimes, prying a silvery-grey kimono from his luggage. “‘Reckless tendencies’ and all that. He's very politically correct, isn't he?”

“Don't say it.”

“He really has no idea.”

“ _Don't say it._ ”

Yuzu laughs and holds up the kimono for him to take. Sceptical of her sudden good will, Ichigo narrows his eyes and waits until she gives the exquisite robe a beckoning shake before resigning himself to her omniscience.

“ _Fine_ , maybe I am a little hot-headed,” he says, taking the kimono if just to have an excuse not to see his little sister smirk. “I promise not to rush into this though. He seems… I don't know. He's attractive, but I think we could be friends if this whole marriage doesn't work out. I really don't think he was that interested.”

“Rukia would kick you if she could hear you giving up already.”

“I'm not giving up! I just… Look, we don't know each other. Just because he's so obviously _my type_ doesn't mean I'm his. I'm not going to push for a marriage if he's in no way attracted to me.”

“But you could _make_ it work.”

“ _Yuzu_ ,” Ichigo sighs, and Yuzu crosses her arms, disapproving of his tone. She looks painfully like their mother when she does, and Ichigo winces at the ache within his chest.

“I'm only saying it because you clearly _didn't notice_ that he was interested,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Talk to him at dinner tonight, you'll see what I mean. Now are you going continue standing there moping or actually change into that kimono?”

“Moping,” Ichigo mumbles, but he begins to undress obediently, unbothered by his sister’s presence. She helps him tie the obi once he's done, and it is as she fusses over the pleats and tries to smooth down his wildfire hair that Ichigo feels himself smile.

Yuzu doesn't say anything when he kisses the top of her head, but she's already said enough to give him plenty to think about.

 

 

 

Dinner in the royal household is an odd affair, different from Karakura in every possible way. A table large enough to seat a small army is the centrepiece of the dining room, but only one small selection of chairs ever seem to be used, their cushions somewhat squashed and corresponding table ledges off-colour from use, slightly scratched, well-loved. The rest of the furniture is immaculate, but Ichigo is sure it won't be as their time in Junrinan rolls on.

With the addition of Ichigo’s guards and a cheery woman with waves and ringlets of strawberry hair and an unforgettable beauty, dinner is served for nine. Back in Karakura, dinner is typically a rowdy affair limited solely to immediate family, but occasionally they are joined by their Shiba relatives or close friends for evenings that promise chaos, noise, and no small amount of laughter. In Junrinan, conversely, it seems that dinner is usually characterised by quiet, but perhaps this isn't a surprise with the nature of this land.

Professional are the palace’s servants, and they soon recover from their initial surprise at the life within the hall. Though vastly unlike the southern cuisine, the meal is heavenly, rich and heavy with meat and bread, and the Karakura party are soon groaning into glasses of deep, spicy wine.

Only Yuzu is left with pale cheeks and a steady hand, but at eighteen, her maturity is a couple of years off yet, which Ichigo is promoted to explain.

“But here it's younger, isn't it?” he asks, sipping carefully at wine. It will do no good to become tipsy at the dinner table, especially in the presence of the queen. Ichigo is ashamed to admit that he's definitely a lightweight.

“Sixteen, officially,” Tōshirō says, clearly having no such problems with the alcohol. “But some mature earlier, or later, depending on the weather.”

Ichigo recalls a rumour that Junrinan’s coming-of-age tradition is as harsh and unpredictable as their winters are cold, but he decides not to risk his ignorance.

The only unfamiliar face at the table, as Ichigo learns, belongs to Rangiku Matsumoto, Tōshirō’s personal guard. She is lively and merry where he is reserved and courtly, but they bicker, smile, and balance one another out as siblings would, and Ichigo assumes her presence at the table is expected, judging by her easy conversation with the queen.

“Well somebody has to keep the prince out of trouble, don’t they?” Rangiku laughs and Tōshirō’s eyebrows shoot up to an impossible height beneath his sweeping fringe.

Ichigo grins into his wine glass, and if Rukia could reach, she would certainly be smacking him right about now. Luckily for Ichigo, Chad is the guard seated to his right, and Rukia can only glower disapprovingly from across the table.

Propriety has never really been his _thing_. “Gets into trouble a lot, does he?”

“Certainly not,” Tōshirō insists, _daring_ his guard with a withering glare.

If he wasn’t halfway to inebriated and all the way to reckless, Ichigo would wince at his betrothed’s chilling stare. Beautiful _and_ dangerous, Tōshirō could definitely tame the polar bears if he ever truly desired.

Rangiku, on the other hand, merely flicks a lock of golden hair over her shoulder and winks at the visiting prince, unfazed by the icy presence seated opposite her. “Not the sort of trouble I should discuss at the dinner table, that’s for sure.”

“I’m sure Her Majesty won’t mind,” Ichigo says, daring a glance at the little monarch. She has been quiet for most of the evening, but when only Yuzu, seated further down the table, is likely to be capable of partaking in a sensible conversation, this doesn't come as a surprise.

“Oh, she won’t,” Tōshirō mutters, and Queen Kotose laughs.

Even Inoue is giggling more than usual, and Ichigo is glad that his friends are relaxing in a place so unfamiliar and far from home. Maybe their stay here won't be so bad; it may be worth it, in the end, for their kingdoms and friendships both. Junrinan has been an ally for many years now, but protected and isolated by weather that few dare to cross, it is a country of little conflict. Reports of its military force are scarce and contradicting, some claiming that only trees guard the kingdom’s borders, and while Ichigo would not be surprised if this were the case, it is worrying indeed for a land to be so weakly secured.

Not, that is, that Junrinan has much going for resources and riches. Far out of reach to the north, it poses no threat to the bustling, crowded kingdoms in the south. It shares borders with no other governed territories; it seems little more than an arctic outpost, colossal mountains separating it from the world, but a kingdom so poorly understood is a threat, and a kingdom left alone could get up to anything over time.

Ichigo doubts that the Hitsugaya royal family have been plotting here in secret, so _cruel_ and _devious_ as they clearly are, but he understands the logic of such apprehensions. Queen Kotose understands them too, he is sure, for why else would she seek a political marriage for her grandson? A stronger alliance with Karakura will reduce suspicion towards their solitary - that, or Junrinan is not as blind to the rising tensions in the south as others have been lead to believe.

Ichigo puts his wine glass down and gladly accepts a refill. Tonight is not for political worries; the morn may bring them, and the morn probably will, but for now, he should enjoy himself and think of war another time.

“You should try the cardamom buns,” Chad says then, presenting a plate of freshly baked, little spirals of almond-sprinkled dough. “Some have vanilla in them.”

“I think I've eaten too much,” Ichigo says, glad for his guard’s keen eye. He takes one of the rolls anyway, as a distraction, and plops half of it into his mouth as if he hasn't already eaten half his weight in potatoes.

“Not enough to counteract all that wine,” Chad says, giving the plate another inviting wobble.

Ichigo rolls his eyes but picks up two more of the - surprisingly tasty - little treats at Chad’s encouragement.

“I'll get fat,” he warns, but he continues eating because he doesn't even care.

“You'll burn it all off trying to stay warm,” Chad says a-matter-of-factly, and Ichigo groans at that horrid, _horrid_ truth.

“I wonder if it's possible to hibernate?”

 _Uh-huh_ , says Chad’s tiny nod. “Like a polar bear?”

“I was thinking of a hamster, actually.”

Further down the table, Ishida chokes on a mouthful of cinnamon and dough.

“Hamsters don't hibernate,” Chad says, bursting Ichigo’s drunken bubble with an _unbelievably_ straight-face. “But I'm sure you could be the first, if you tried.”

Unable to discern if that was an insult or a compliment, Ichigo just nods and mumbles, “Thanks Chad.” Then he turns his attention back to the wider audience at the table and catches Tōshirō watching their exchange from the corner of his eye.

Ichigo stares back, eyebrows raised and unashamed of his silly chatter with Chad, and Tōshirō flicks his gaze away.

 _Intellectually interested in you_ , Yuzu had said.

 _Right_ , Ichigo despairs. _Because wanting to be a hibernating hamster is really the height of intellectual conversation, isn't it?_

Maybe not, but once dinner is adjourned and the queen wishes her guests _goodnight_ , a miracle occurs in the form of the wintry prince regent accompanying Ichigo’s journey back to the guest quarters and away from prying eyes.

Ichigo tries to keep Yuzu’s advice in mind - he really, _really_ does - but there are just some things a tipsy, enchanted mind cannot avoid.

“The portraits don't do you justice,” he blurts quite randomly, interrupting Tōshirō’s steady talk of idle, pleasant things. He is referring to the gifts that the two kingdoms had exchanged, once when the engagement had been proposed, and again all these years later when the possibility of marriage had come, but for a moment the other prince is thrown, glancing briefly to the artworks adorning the palace walls.

Ichigo goes to fumble through an explanation, but Tōshirō quickly grasps the true meaning without needing further prompting.

“Oh,” he says then, an involuntary sound. He seems small all of a sudden, which is frankly _ridiculous_ , but then gives Ichigo a considering look. “The same holds true for yourself.”

Ichigo is sure that the tips of his ears are red, and he smiles so brightly that he may have swallowed a star. “You can just say ‘thanks’ you know.”

Tōshirō, as Ichigo is pleased to note, blushes all the way down to his neck. “I was only speaking the truth,” he clarifies; bravado seems to be pouring of him, slouching his stiff professionalism into something smooth and… sincere?

“I apologise if I made you uncomfortable,” he continues, and Ichigo laughs easily, startled by how _badly_ his fiancé seems to be misreading the conversation.

“You'll have to talk a lot dirtier than that to make me uncomfortable,” he admits, only for his laughter to end abruptly as his brain catches up to that _landslide_ of a statement. “ _Err_ \- I mean - alcohol, _alcohol_ , yes, I might be a little tipsy and I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Perhaps,” Tōshirō says, and Ichigo’s addled mind doesn’t know what to do with such a cryptic answer - so he doesn't say anything, hoping that Tōshirō will explain.

“I have duties to attend to tomorrow morning, but if it would please you, I am in the process of hacking a pair of gyrfalcons,” is what the prince ends up saying, which does little to untangle the question marks bobbing around Ichigo’s mind. “I am due to release them from their hacking station tomorrow afternoon - if you would be willing to brave the cold and accompany me?”

“Gyrfalcons?” Ichigo asks, slurring the word to an almost indistinguishable degree. “You do falconry up here?”

“They _are_ less of an undertaking than polar bears,” Tōshirō says by way of explanation; that little smirk of his is back, and Ichigo is helpless not to fixate it. “Was I wrong in assuming that falconry was an interest of yours?”

“Wha - _no_ , no, we have peregrines at home. How’d you know that though?”

“I didn’t know that peregrines were your particular interest, but call it a hunch. I know a falconer when I see one,” Tōshirō says, either unbothered by Ichigo’s blatant staring or allowing the indiscretion to slide due to the copious amount of alcohol consumed. He smiles - actually _smiles_ this time - and Ichigo’s interest rockets up from _I guess he’s pretty attractive_ to _oh my god I could snog him for_ _hours_.

He must zone out for a second, for Tōshirō’s next question catches him completely by surprise:

“Is that a ‘yes’ then, to joining me?”

“Of course,” Ichigo blurts, nodding frantically. The grand old doors to his quarters are approaching now, signifying the end of this conversation, and it’s just as well, he thinks, because he’s already made an utter fool of himself. “I’d love to.”

He just - _just_ \- manages to stop himself from adding, _and you know what else I’d love to do?_

“Until tomorrow then,” Tōshirō says, perpetually composed, and then as if just to rub his sobriety in Ichigo’s face, he opens the doors to the suite like a gentleman (or an _arsehole_ ) and waits for Ichigo to stumble his way inside before bidding him goodnight.

“Thanks,” Ichigo says, because he’s not _that_ much of an idiot. “And goodnight.”

Small, alabaster hands close the door, and with a final, nearly ominous _click_ , Ichigo can hear the upcoming weeks of his life spiralling out of control around him.

 

 

 

As Ichigo discovers the next day, nature’s best attempt at growing woodland in these frozen conditions can be found spindly and bare behind the palace grounds. Mountains perpetually snow-capped rise up in the distance, great titans yearning for the sky. The city is insignificant in comparison, and Ichigo feels small in a way he never has within Karakura, the flats and towns of his kingdom brightened by the summer sun.

With lunch sitting warm and filling in his stomach, he wraps up in jumpers and coats to brave the afternoon’s icy breath, and dutifully follows Tōshirō out to the hacking site. Their small talk is sporadic and frequently interrupted by Ichigo cursing back at the wind; he doesn’t know if he'll ever accustom himself to Junrinan’s bitter vendetta, but he can envision that grumbling and swearing at the weather will become a happy pastime.

“Does it _ever_ get warm here?” he asks at once such time, trying to wiggle his hands further into the depths of his coat. The cold has reduced him to little more than a ginger-topped ball of fabric waddling through the snow, but he only really cares for Tōshirō’s opinion and that’s hard enough to achieve as it is, so what does it matter?

“It’s mild today, for March,” Tōshirō says, as if uttering it kindly will make Ichigo feel any better about the loss of sensation in his toes. “Winter is almost over now, for a few months at least.”

Ichigo shoots the top of his fiancé’s head an incredulous look because said fiancé isn’t looking. “Mild?” he says, outraged. “It can't be above freezing!”

“Oh, it's definitely not. June and July are the warmest months - it may reach twenty degrees if we're fortunate.”

“ _Twenty_? Twenty _degrees C_ if you're _lucky_?”

Tōshirō glances up, appearing to enjoy Ichigo’s horror. “Karakura is far warmer, I take it?” he says, asking as if there could be anywhere that _wasn’t_ warmer than Junrinan.

 _Are you kidding_ , screams Ichigo’s flabbergast expression. “ _Way_ warmer,” he says, sighing blissfully at thoughts of sunshine, t-shirts, and long, sweltering days. “We're lucky to _see_ snow, honestly, and that's in _January_. How cold does it get here?”

Tōshirō seems to think about it, but the smirk forming unbidden on his ice and snow-kissed face suggests he’s only teasing. “In this part of the country, it can reach as low as minus ten or eleven. But further north is often twice as cold as that in January and February.”

“ _Twice as cold as_ -”

“I seldom travel north,” Tōshirō concludes, and the rush of Ichigo’s laughter surprises them both.

“ _Who would_?”

“Well,” the Junrinan prince says then, smiling as if privy to some witty little secret. “You have, have you not?”

Ichigo opens his mouth - and then shuts it again because he inhales a lungful of snow.

The hacking site is smaller than what Ichigo is used to, but where they can have up to eight peregrine falcons in a station at once, it is obvious that even the gyrfalcon fledglings are larger, more impressive birds. Young though they are, they are beautiful and refined, sharp-eyed predators with icicles for claws and feathers as pristine as the tundra they hunt. Tiny in comparison are the falcons that Ichigo is used to training, but he loves the peregrine for its unrivalled speed and elegance as it slices the wind in the Karakura sky.

Releasing the gyrfalcons for their first flight is anti-climatic in the end; the falcons merely watch intrigued as Tōshirō unlocks the hatch, hungry eyes tracking his hands in hope of food. They are ready to fly and ready for independence, but the first leap is always the most difficult. A few days will pass before they are confident enough in the sky for recapture and further training, and they will be anxious, worrisome days where Tōshirō can do little but watch. Ichigo cannot say that he has ever ‘bonded’ with a falcon: dogs learn their loyalty through love, but falcons care only for convenience, and their trainers are simply the easiest source of food. He loves the peregrines all the same though, and would never see one harmed, but he dares not fuss over the gyrfalcons as Tōshirō does, certain that his presence will not be welcome.

“When d’ya name them?” he asks, calling out across the open land. The feeding stations are far apart, and Tōshirō hitches the bag of food further up his shoulder as Ichigo watches on.

“Only once the hacking is complete,” Tōshirō replies, never pausing in his work. “It’s best not to get attached until they are ready.”

 _Logical_ , Ichigo thinks, although in Karakura it is difficult to avoid naming the falcons when you have a hyperactivity father and two sisters. “You lose some before?”

“I have had to release some, yes. My cousin set her heart on a female one year, only for the falcon to fly away. Sometimes people catch and return them, but sometimes the falcons lose their tags and there’s little I can do to stop the hunters from shooting them down. Around the city and neighbouring towns, the people are aware that the gyrfalcons will usually belong to the falconry, but this isn’t the case everywhere. It happens, I suppose. Would you like to name one?”

Ichigo blinks at the unexpected question, and glances back at the gyrfalcons hopping around on the hacking station, the wind blustering through their juvenile feathers. “I’m - err - not very good with names,” he admits, scratching his cheek with a mitten, but he wracks his brain for one anyway, flattered by Tōshirō’s willingness to share this part of his life.

The Junrinan prince doesn’t seem to mind, teal eyes smiling at Ichigo through the silvery sweep of his fringe. “Well, you’ll have a few days to think about it. We could teach them to become accustomed to you; training will be easier with two, after all. Does your sister participate?”

“Karin does, but not Yuzu. Yuzu wants a polar bear, actually,” Ichigo replies, adding the second part as an afterthought, shrugging as if to say _well what can I do?_ Tōshirō laughs, blissfully entertained by the idea, and Ichigo grins at the regent’s startled sound.

“Then she’s certainly come to the right place, hasn’t she?” Tōshirō says.

 

 

 

The majority of Ichigo’s first week in Junrinan passes with eyes lifted upwards to watch the gyrfalcons soar around the palace grounds. A unanimous decision from his guards eventually drags him away from the palace: _there’s so much to see in the city!_ Inoue tells him; _you’re pining_ , Ishida deadpans, and so Ichigo finds himself exploring the markets and alleyways during their second week. He spends more time out of the palace than within, _but don’t worry_ , Rukia says, ever dutiful and sarcastic at his side, _because you know what they say about distance making the heart grow fonder_.

 _I hate you all_ , Ichigo says, and they laugh and smile and take that as a job well done.

“If your guards are hard pressed to entertain themselves, then I am sure Matsumoto will be happy to introduce them to the facilities at the training grounds,” Tōshirō says one evening, having secluded himself far into the depths of the library in search of old records and scrolls. Ichigo had been looking for the library, and not his betrothed in fact, when they had bumped into each other, and so he takes a moment to unpeel his nose from the anthology at Tōshirō’s quiet words.

“You have any target ranges?” he asks, thinking of Ishida and his bow.

The prince regent inclines his head full of snow. “I’m sure the lieutenant can find something.”

After that, when their respective guards are tucked away further within the castle, training, sparring, and punching frustrations out on each other ( _they’re fed up with the sexual tension around you_ , Yuzu happily supplies), Ichigo and Tōshirō can often be found sharing their love of literature and debating various philosophical matters in the heart of the library.

(Truthfully, their conversations _begin_ in a sensible, upheld manner, but after lunch, too many cups of tea, and spending more than twenty minutes in each other’s company, their afternoons often dissolve into this:

“I mean, I _get_ that it’s a wood-pile, but isn’t it supposed to be a _metaphor_ or something?”

“Death, I imagine.”

“Oh yes, look at this wood-pile. It’s a metaphor for death, you see. Have a look at its crumbling foundations and slightly off-brown colour - oh, and you see all those leaves -”

Or:

“That’s not what Hirohito said yesterday.”

“Hirohito’s a polar bear, he shouldn’t be saying _anything_.”

And once, memorably:

“You can’t apply the logistics of operant condition to a _fish_.”

“Why not? I thought whales were pretty smart. Like sharks.”

“Whales aren’t fish.”

“...What? Yes they are... They are, right? They’re fish...Tōshirō? Tōshirō, are you telling me that _whales aren’t fish_?”)

On brighter days, he wanders the outer regions of the city under a guard’s’ watchful eyes. Usually, Rukia accompanies him for the hours of maundering and exploring, and they bicker as friends do as the residential districts turn them around, muddling their lefts and rights. With the daylight hours steadily increasing as springs shakes winter’s final clutches away, it is easier to ensure their return by nightfall. On the odd occasion that they wander too far, they merely have to lift their gazes to the sky and wait for a royal falcon to come searching and guide them home.

Removing Ichigo’s hood helps immensely, as they find out the second time, and Yuzu laughs for hours when Tōshirō suggests that he train the gyrfalcons to distinguish orange hair.

By the end of April, the Karakura party are nearing the halfway mark of their stay. Ichigo is comfortable in Junrinan - more comfortable than he ever expected to be - but as the spring months finally emerge and the gyrfalcon fledglings grow and grow and grow, he knows that the time for politics has arrived. There is much to discuss if the marriage goes ahead: the wedding, of course, and a party fit to celebrate the joining of two kingdoms, but there are matters of sovereignty and logistics to consider.

If the tensions between Karakura’s neighbouring kingdoms do rise, then Ichigo may be needed at home. Protecting the borders and the people of his country are his priority, and if Karakura is to be trapped within the warfare between Seireitei and Wandenreich, then he is to be there as prince, and a warrior for the realm.

He discloses his concerns to Tōshirō, wishing they did not have to talk of war, and the next day a falcon is released carrying a message to Karakura. Brief though the letter may be, Ichigo had spoken happily of his time in Junrinan before enquiring about the status of the neighbouring arms race, and as they watch the gyrfalcon disappear into the icy gloom, Ichigo clasps Tōshirō’s hand and squeezes it tight.

“Fear not,” Tōshirō says, making no move to step away. “My falcons always return.”

Four days later it does, as promised, only to crash into Tōshirō’s quarters and frighten the servants there into scrambling and screaming amok. Adrenaline _throwing_ Ichigo down the corridor, he manages to coax the bird down from its disorientated perch in the corner while a servant rushes to find the prince regent. Wary, the gyrfalcon is a sorry sight as it edges closer, its eyes sharp and daring and its feathers the night-time blizzard, blustered and strewn. Dirt and blood dashes its wintry plumage; Ichigo is careful not to jostle the falcon as it settles upon him, and then when it calms, he swiftly unties what remains of the letter it carries.

Tōshirō _storms_ in just a minute later, the frantic servant nipping at his heels, and swears so violently in his native language that Ichigo almost pitches the gyrfalcon aside and snogs his fiancé right then and there. (He doesn’t of course, because he loves the falcons, but he definitely, _one-hundred percent_ loves his fiancé more, and Junrinan’s northern tongue is old and strong and literally euphoria to his ears).

Stopping in the centre of the room, the silvery prince catches the gyrfalcon with ease. Ichigo cares not for the bird’s disregard towards him, instead glad that it seeks reassurance from the man that truly holds its loyalty. He waves the letter in his hand, drawing the ice-cold anger in his partner’s gaze.

“He’s hurt,” Tōshirō breathes, running his fingers through its feathers. He frowns, his mouth a terrible, thin line, and then motions to the blood dribbling down Ichigo’s other hand. “And so are you.”

“He didn’t make it to Karakura,” Ichigo says, ignoring his own injury in favour of opening the letter and scanning its torn, somewhat bloodied contents. “This is my letter. He must’ve gotten attacked by something.”

He says ‘something’ as though he isn’t aware that gyrfalcons are top predators, preying upon the dominions they dominate but rarely, themselves, being preyed upon. This is not an animal attack - it could not be, with Tōshirō’s training and skill, and the two princes exchange solemn expressions.

“How far can it fly in two days? Can it reach - ?” Ichigo cuts himself off, aware that he is not in private enough company to be making such strong accusations, and then shrugs when Tōshirō flicks dark, calculating eyes towards him.

“Perhaps we should speak of this later,” Tōshirō says, politically careful as always. “For now, there are things to be done. Matsumoto, alert the council that that I am calling for a session in an hour, then please inform the queen. Nakano, please run up to the mews and inform whoever is there that I am bringing an injured falcon. Saito, please find somebody to clear up in here. I apologise for the fright - are either of you injured?”

The two servants rush to reassure their prince, and then disappear to complete their tasks at his bidding. Matsumoto, who Ichigo had not noticed was standing in the doorway, purses her lips and gives Tōshirō a weighted look; a moment passes between them, one that Ichigo is not privy to, and then she too hastens to obey.

Once they are alone, Tōshirō releases a sigh and goes back to stroking the gyrfalcon with gentle, practiced motions that seem to comfort them both. “You should see to your hand and then locate your friends,” he says, eyeing the blood splattered over Ichigo’s skin. “I fear that your vacation has come to an end.”

“The fact that it was a vacation at all is enough,” Ichigo replies, and he would smile if the threat of war were not looming over them. “Definitely an arrow then, was it?”

Tōshirō inclines his head, revealing the arrowhead smatterings in his hand. “We will to consider the possibility that this is an act of war,” he says, gravely quiet. “But hopefully this is nothing more than an accident.”

Even as he says this, he shakes his silvery head, and Ichigo wishes he’d had the foresight not to send a message to his father.

“I’ll ask Ishida,” he says, pushing his uninjured hand through his tangled hair of wildfire. There is no changing the past now. All they can do is move forward and prepare for the worst, and if it is Wandenreich they’re up against, then there is one person that Ichigo can always turn to:

“Trust me, he’ll know.”

 

 

 

“If a Quincy-made arrow had been used, then there wouldn’t be anything left of it,” Ishida explains, turning the tiny fragments of arrowhead over in his hands. “They consist primarily of reishi from the atmosphere, which the user then combines with their reiryoku to allow for... _complex_ manipulation; increased accuracy, power, durance and so on. After inflicting damage, the arrows are typically broken down into reishi again so that the reishi can be reused.”

“So the fact that we’ve _got_ an arrow-head here means it wasn’t fired in Wandenreich territory? Or a Quincy?” Matsumoto asks, never ceasing the anxious tapping of her fingers against the table. The councilmen and women hum and haw amongst themselves, and Ichigo looks on sadly from his seat beside Tōshirō, knowing this isn’t the case.

Confirming Ichigo’s suspicions, Ishida shakes his head. “Arrows formed from reishi leave a residue; if you know what you’re looking for, it can be obvious - but then, only Quincies know how to look for it. I can’t determine where this arrow was fired, but it was fired by a Quincy.”

“Are you certain?” Ichigo says, hating to ask. There is no question in his mind that Ishida has considered every option, but for the sake of Junrinan’s council and royalty, he has to press.

Ishida takes it in stride. “Certain, Your Highness.”

“What if somebody _wants_ us to think that?” one of the councilmen ask - rightfully so, Ichigo knows, but it still bothers him to hear such doubt. Standing guard beside Chad, Inoue has to hide a glower behind her hand at the slight against their own. “Is it possible to imitate the effects?”

“Of Quincy techniques?” Ishida asks, looking as unconvinced as possible while in the presence of foreign royalty - which is to say, not very. “If it’s possible, I wouldn’t know how. As far as I’m aware, it has never been attempted. There are no records to suggest that anybody beyond the Quincies have mastered reishi manipulation to this degree.”

“Could it be attempted?” Kotose asks, seated at the head of the table, and all attention in the room instantly swings around to focus upon the quiet queen.

Ishida nudges his glasses nervously, but when he replies, his voice is sound. “I can’t say, Your Majesty,” he says, placing the fragments on the table for all the council to see. “Aptitude for Quincy techniques is hereditary - they cannot be attained through practice or sheer force of will.”

Ishida doesn’t so much as look at Ichigo here as _look_ , and across the room, Chad and Inoue chuckle to themselves.

“If this _is_ an imitation, then it is an excellent one,” he goes on. “The creator would have to have an unparalleled knowledge of Quincy abilities.”

“Or be Quincy themselves,” Tōshirō says, declaring the unanimous thought of the room without raising his voice at all.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Ishida murmurs, conceding with a nod of his head. “Or that, I suppose.”

Hush befalls the council; the silence of their breath is winter’s merciless hold overtaking the budding spring.

“We cannot afford to guess,” Tōshirō states, surveying his wisest men and women. “If this was an accident or the work of a single individual, then so be it. However, this cannot be disputed; there can be no doubt. We have lived in peace with Wandenreich for many decades now, and we cannot risk war on a hunch.”

“Surely this will not come to war, Your Highness?” asks a councilwoman.

“I certainly hope not,” Tōshirō replies glumly, his huff sending a nervous ripple through the council.

“Then I guess the next question is whether or not it was an accident,” Ichigo supplies, urging the conversation away from his fiancé’s slip. “Does anybody have any suggestions? Beyond sending another gyrfalcon, that is.”

As one, the council turn to stare at him, and Ichigo flushes. Neither married to Junrinan royalty or descended from said royalty, he definitely shouldn’t be controlling the council session, that’s for sure, but he cannot apologise for his own blunder now. Regardless, he reaches over and squeezes Tōshirō’s hand, and though Tōshirō does not object to the affection again, this time he jerks, their fingers almost slipping apart with his surprise.

“Send another bird?” somebody asks, moving the conversation on before Ichigo has the time to probe his betrothed. “Or perhaps a soldier? If the message is the target, then His Highness only needs to send a decoy to draw attention.”

“A soldier would take almost a week just to reach the borders of Junrinan,” somebody else notes. “We cannot afford to delay if our kingdom is threatened.”

Ichigo can’t be certain, but he thinks he hears Rukia mumble _send a polar bear_ from behind his chair.

“There is _one_ being at our disposal that could ensure a swift and safe return,” the queen says then, but when long, awaiting seconds pass and she does not clarify, the council are left to share their confusion with subtle glances and frowns.

Ichigo turns to his partner in hope of an explanation, only to notice that Tōshirō has gone very, _very_ still. He clasps Tōshirō’s hand tighter, skin questioning skin where his words cannot, but the Junrinan prince only has eyes for his grandmother; dark, Hitsugaya wisdom meet in a glance across the table, and Kotose smiles where her grandson does not.

“ _Hyorinmaru_ ,” Ichigo hears his fiancé breathe; he lifts a questioning eyebrow, watching indecision freeze Tōshirō’s jaw into a frown.

Neither the queen nor prince answer, and soon the meeting is adjourned with the rest of the council seeming just as confused. Politely, they do not question their sovereigns’ hushed exchange, but Ichigo stays resolutely seated until all but royalty remain.

He doesn't dare listen to his fiancé’s private conversation, but if he _overhears_ the occasional word - well. They've yet to officially discuss their marriage - or unofficially, really, beyond stray glances and long, off-topic debates in the library - but Ichigo would be glad (fortunate, _blessed_ ) to marry this hurricane of a man. To be _Ichigo and Tōshirō_ would be an honour, so getting a head start on his fiancé’s politics isn't a terrible idea, is it?

The queen certainly doesn’t kick him out when she notices his idle watching, at any rate.

(A good sign? Ichigo thinks so).

Tōshirō doesn’t so much as invite Ichigo to follow once the discussion is over, but the Karakura prince tags along like a sunlit cloud of worry anyway, and is pleased to find that his fiancé does not complain. Soon, they reach the privacy of Tōshirō quarters, swept and tidied after the falcon’s graceless return, but Tōshirō doesn't appear to find solace in his own space as he usually would. Rather, he paces the length of the room with a puzzling expression, checking the damage to the furniture and walls in turn, and Ichigo begins to question his welcome just as Tōshirō turns back towards him.

Nothing is said for a moment, each waiting for the other to begin, until their manners succumb to curiosity at once:

“Who’s Hyorinmaru?”

“You didn’t visit a healer to treat your hand, did you?”

Thrown by the accusation, Ichigo flounders, all thoughts of Hyorinmaru vanishing.

“Huh? Oh.” He turns over his hand, inspecting the smooth, unmarred skin, and recalls how Tōshirō had seemed surprised when their fingers had slipped together during the council meeting. He doesn’t say anything else, instead clenching and unclenching his hand a few times, aware that Tōshirō is watching him intently.

It’s not much of an answer, but to Tōshirō, who thinks in the winter winds and carries the polar lights in his mind, it is answer enough.

“You’ve not been carrying your zanpakuto,” is what Tōshirō eventually decides to say, his logic unwavering and sound.

Ichigo quirks a smile, impressed by the deduction. “Neither have you,” he counters; if Tōshirō can connect an instinctive, almost entirely unnoticeable healing to zanpakuto, then Ichigo, presented with his own conundrum, can do the same.

Tōshirō smiles, the weight of the council meeting lifting from his shoulders. He seems to approve of Ichigo’s daring, conceding to the point.

“Zanpakuto are… rare in this kingdom. Exceedingly so. I do not advertise my proficiency with a blade - or the reiatsu arts. There are few here who can claim to possess reiryoku, and fewer who have seen it for themselves.”

That doesn’t surprise Ichigo. There had been a reason, after all, for warning his friends not to put their skills on display during their stay.

“I guess you’re far enough away to slip under Seireitei’s radar?” he asks.

Tōshirō nods. “I suppose the same cannot be said for you?” he replies, sounding neither pleased nor displeased at their respective fates.

Once again, Ichigo cannot blame him. He knows what the Seireitei is like.

“Nah - but I was, when I was younger. Charging head first into the capital and causing a ruckus isn’t the best way of staying undetected, let me tell you. But reiryoku itself is quite common in Karakura. Ishida’s a Quincy.”

There isn’t a hope in _hell_ that Tōshirō hadn’t already worked that out for himself, but at least there’s no room for second-guessing if Ichigo reveals it explicitly. Ishida might be a little miffed at being “outed” with such disregard, but Ichigo can tackle that hurdle when it comes glaring, Quincy-arrow blue his way.

“And you are a Shinigami,” Tōshirō says in much the same tone, and Ichigo shivers a little, convinced that his fiancé can make _any_ word sound hot, even one with dubious, war-stricken connotations like ‘Shinigami’.

“Kind of,” Ichigo says with a shrug. “Unofficially. Rukia too - though, officially. Chad and Inoue are something else, but we just call them ‘a bit weird’ to be honest.”

“Kind of you.”

Ichigo’s grin is the rays of sunlight finally emerging for the spring. Eager now to disclose his powers, he reaches for the innermost part of himself, and without so much as a by your leave, he holds out his hands, summoning his soul’s extension with little more than a flick of his wrists. Familiar, the sensation of the two blades pouring their shadows into his hands envelopes him; comforting and proud, the partnered swords build up into existence, darkness and molten, midnight fire gathering into elegance and power refined. The room seems to darken for a moment, a hushed breath befalling the kingdom’s heart, and Ichigo is quick to quell his zanpakuto’s blaze lest the ancient, arctic stone fortify its walls against him.

Tōshirō is not the only storm in this kingdom.

“This one’s the Old Man, and this one’s the little shit,” Ichigo says, introducing the asymmetrical blades in turn. He gives them each a little wave, akin to a child’s happy greeting, and Tōshirō’s eyebrows shoot up as the swords crackle with embers and flames.

Distantly, Ichigo hears the offended half of his zanpakuto mutter _fuck off_.

His smile only widens. “But together, they’re Zangetsu. Say ‘hi’.”

Tōshirō blinks, wide-eyed and adorable as he absorbs the sight of the soul manifestation. He looks thrown in a way that seems to controvert everything about him and, deciding to relish the expression, Ichigo repeats his invitation.

“I’m not sure that’s appropriate,” Tōshirō replies, gaining some semblance of composure, but he appears to hesitate, his mouth moving despite his rationale as if to say _hello_.

“Well, we’re getting married aren’t we?”

 _Are we?_ says the quirk of Tōshirō’s lips into a smile. “Perhaps so,” is what he says aloud. “Then, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Zangetsu.”

 ** _Yeouch_** , says the khyber knife. ** _Formal ain’t he?_**

 _Regardless_ , Zangetsu’s elder half amends, the trench knife speaking up for the first time. _Please inform the prince that the sentiment is returned._

Ichigo does so, pride glowing on his face as bright as his hair.

“You didn’t recite a release command?” Tōshirō asks next, still captivated by the mismatched dual blades.

“Nah, don’t need it,” Ichigo explains. “Well, I mean - they’re kinda always stuck in this form, so I’ve never used one. If Zangetsu has one, I don’t know it, and they’ve never bothered to tell me.”

**_Don’t pin this on us, fucktard._ **

“Maybe it’s best I don’t know it,” Ichigo adds with a laugh. “I know I’m a little atypical in that sense.”

“Your very presence in this kingdom is atypical,” Tōshirō replies, not exactly unkindly, or kindly, but rather merely stating a fact as he gestures vaguely to Ichigo and his zanpakuto. “You are a power we’ve not seen for many years now.”

“You mean apart from yourself?”

Tōshirō’s expression shudders - honest to god _shudders_ \- and Ichigo’s smile slips straight from his face. Abruptly recalling the prince’s apprehension in the council meeting - the hushed whispers with his grandmother and the queen’s returning smile, gentle, but maybe even _equally apprehensive_ , Ichigo regrets his brash approach. He hadn’t meant anything by it; Tōshirō’s own, elusive zanpakuto is a curiosity, and Ichigo will be thrilled to see that part of his fiancé’s soul. Disquiet to the point of distress from Tōshirō is something he hadn’t expected, and Ichigo scowls, wondering if there had been a reason that the prince and queen had kept their conversation of zanpakuto _away_ from the council’s listening ears.

“Forget I said anything,” Ichigo says, wanting nothing more than soothe Tōshirō’s demeanour back into its typical composure.

“No, no,” Tōshirō says, shaking his head. “You’re right, as is my grandmother. Hyorinmaru can do what the gyrfalcons cannot, only -”

Only _what_ Ichigo doesn’t discover; instead, Tōshirō shakes his head of snow once again, this time seeming to come to a decision. Urging Ichigo to step back, he holds out one hand before him. Almost but not entirely echoing Ichigo’s previous stance, Tōshirō takes a breath, and as he releases it back out in a rush of northern gales, ice crackles and splinters into existence on the floor, gradually twisting itself together to form a ring directly beneath his hand.

“Come now, Hyorinmaru,” he breathes, taking his hand away. “ _Sit upon the frozen heavens_.”

The temperature of the room _plummets_. The air itself seems to freeze; snowflakes and hail rain down from the ceiling, icicles clink against each other as they drip from the furniture, and a thick _whoosh_ of reiatsu rushes out from the ice ring, muffling Ichigo’s yelp as it blankets the bedroom in snow.

As the tundra takes shape, the central circle continues to grow. Ice reaches upwards like a tree crawling into being, its trunk translucent and cold as it shivers towards the sun, and Ichigo watches, awed, as the ice bends into a serpentine shape, mangling its jagged edges into something beautiful and sleek.

The snow settles, and the elegant creation bows its head, lowering two eyes of ruby and _life_ towards the Junrinan prince.

“Holy _crap_ ,” Ichigo blurts before he can stop himself, flabbergast gasping out into the negative degrees. “You can turn a block of ice into a dragon and you’re surprised at _my_ zanpakuto?”

Fondness brushes over Tōshirō’s expression like a dusting of snow, but then the moment passes and he returns to a state of such _heavy_ sorrow as he lifts his gaze to address the icy marvel before him.

“Hello Hyorinmaru,” he says, uttering the greeting so incredibly _sadly_. “I’m sure you overhead Granny’s request: would you be so kind as to send a message for us?”

The dragon is silent, eerily so, and Ichigo feels shivers crawl down his spine. There is something so very _wrong_ with this scene, but he can think of nothing to do except observe the prince and his power in motion, and try to discern why his betrothed looks upon the dragon as if he doesn’t know his zanpakuto at all.

“Do you have anything beyond your letter that you would like to send to Karakura?” Tōshirō asks, addressing Ichigo now. More like a statue than a soul, the dragon doesn’t so much as twitch towards the Karakura prince, and Ichigo shakes his head if only to rid the room of its dispirited atmosphere.

Acknowledging this, Tōshirō relays instructions to his icy embodiment. Feeling strangely out of place, Ichigo dismisses his dual blades (ignoring Zangetsu’s grumble) and diverts his eyes from Tōshirō’s zanpakuto just long enough to nearly lose his head when the dragon flexes two colossal wings and quite literally scatters into a thousand pieces.

“You know,” Ichigo says hesitantly, casting his gaze out of the window into the tundra beyond. The bedroom mirrors Junrinan’s spring landscape without a fault, and Ichigo is struck with the thought that maybe Tōshirō’s arctic realm came first. “I thought you were aiming for inconspicuous?”

Now that Hyorinmaru - or Hyorinmaru’s copy, whatever that was - has disappeared and the snow begins to melt into non-existence, Tōshirō smiles softly, seeming more like himself again.

(Which is just _wrong_ ).

“Different kind of message,” he says. “Come tomorrow, we will have some new information on the status of Wandenreich.”

“You sent him to _Wandenreich_?”

“No, of course not. I sent him to Karakura with a message for your father. But if happens to fly over Wandenreich territory on the way - well, we are at peace, so that’s perfectly acceptable isn’t it?”

Ichigo cannot fault the prince’s logic, but he frets anyway. Wandenreich isn’t known for its tolerant attitude, and if they are plotting against the kingdom of Seireitei, then anything could tip the scales. Karakura is not a weak kingdom by any means, but sharing borders with the two opposing countries is very quickly becoming an unfavourable position to be in.

“And what if they’re hostile?” Ichigo asks, worrying a lip. “He’s a _dragon_.”

“Yes,” Tōshirō says, raising one, decisive eyebrow to mark the end of the conversation. “That he is.”

 

 

 

It turns out that the entirety of the Karakura party is waiting for him when Ichigo drags himself back to his own quarters. They look up as once when he slumps inside, having nested themselves on and around the two sofas as though they aren’t Karakura’s strongest and wisest, and Yuzu procures a cup of tea out of seemingly nowhere as Ichigo discards the heavy outer layer of his kimono and flops into the space they have left.

“War, then?” Rukia asks, cutting straight to the chase. There’s a half-devoured tray of biscuits on the floor, so they’ve probably rehearsed this discussion a million times already.

Perhaps on cue, Ichigo groans and tries to drown himself in the tea. Yuzu has definitely thrown in enough sugar to induce a heart attack, at any rate. His friends give him sympathetic looks - that is, Inoue and Chad do - and Ichigo attempts a smile for his sister’s sake. Eighteen she may be, but she’ll always be his little sister even as she dictates the high council and sweet-talks their enemies into terror.

Yuzu is, of course, having none of his attitude.

“Spill,” she demands, more of a queen than the princess she is, and Ichigo sighs only somewhat reluctantly before giving the group the run-down. He skims over the details of Tōshirō’s relationship with his zanpakuto but covers everything else, and as expected, Ishida huffs at the thoughtless declaration of his Quincy heritage. None of them seem particularly surprised by any of the news, however, so Ichigo can only conclude that they had discussed all possibilities in depth before his arrival, something which equally exasperates and entertains him.

(Keeping secrets from these guys is _impossible_ ).

“And that’s it,” he finishes, munching his way through a biscuit. “I think Tōshirō went off in search of his lieutenant, but I figured he’d want to be left alone so…”

His friends and sister hum, their thoughts a collective sound in the silence.

“Well, on the plus side...” Inoue begins, trying as ever to keep spirits in the room high. “This is probably good news for your marriage!”

“She’s right,” Ishida says at Ichigo’s flabbergast expression. “If anything, times of conflict are perfect for marriages. A promise of allies and resources is exactly what you’ll need. Weren’t you going to talk to the prince regent about it?”

“I was. However, that was before the gyrfalcon was shot down. There’s more important things to be worrying about than our relationship,” Ichigo says, grumbling into his second - or third? - cup of tea. It’s nearing lukewarm but he continues drinking it anyway, glad for any warmth in comparison to the terrain of Tōshirō’s soul, beautiful but oh so cold.

“True,” Rukia stresses, waving a biscuit at him. “But not your _marriage_. That’s something you should be thinking about now. You’re the crown prince; marriage is politics, not romance. If you don’t bring it up with him soon, he’ll definitely bring it up with you.”

Inoue sighs forlornly. “Aww, I thought Ichigo would propose,” she says, and even Chad looks surprised from beneath the depths of his hair.

“I’m not sure that’s how it works with royalty,” he says, and he’s right, of course, except -

“I _could_ propose,” Ichigo ponders, attracted by the idea like the hopeless romantic he truly is. “What’s stopping me?”

“Common sense?” Rukia drawls; Ichigo pokes his tongue out at her, and she does the same in return.

“A gripping and perfectly rational fear that he may not wish to enter a romantic relationship with you in return?” Chad guesses, speaking up before their bickering can escalate into foul play. His appraisal of Ichigo’s concerns sucks life and sound from the room; the party blink at him, collectively astounded by his calm countenance.

“Wow Chad, you don’t mess around, do you?” Ichigo breathes, equal parts amused and mortified.

Ishida mutters _killed it_ and laughter fills the room.

“This isn't like you, Ichigo,” Yuzu notes, speaking softly and sounding confused. “You're usually the first to leap into things.”

“Not _marriage_ ,” Ichigo replies with a huff, but at Yuzu’s fierce stare, he relents into an explanation. “Even if he doesn’t have any sort of romantic interest for me, he’s still my friend. I just don’t want him to feel obliged to marry me for politics - _even though_ he basically is, I know,” he adds, glancing at Rukia before she can interrupt. “I guess I don’t know how to… talk to him about it. I like Tōshirō, but I don't want him to feel like he's stuck with me _just because_ of politics or the fact that I think he's as hot as fuck.”

“Have you thought that, maybe, he wants to marry you too?” Ishida asks. “For the sake of romance, not politics, I mean.”

The morphing of Ichigo’s expression into befuddlement clearly answers that question.

His friends unanimously sigh, and Ichigo feels foolish in the way that only they can make him feel.

“You should just be honest,” Inoue suggests. “Tell him what you just said to us.”

“He might surprise you,” Chad adds. “You are his friend as well, aren’t you?”

It’s a rhetorical question, but Ichigo nods anyway. His friends are right - they nearly always are - and to hear them rationalise his concerns so effortlessly calms Ichigo. Perhaps he hasn’t been giving Tōshirō enough credit; friendships are built by two people, after all. His fiancé has a mind beyond any complexity that Ichigo can imagine, so to assume that he knows Tōshirō’s thoughts without asking is… illogical.

(Ichigo smiles. Tōshirō’s thoughts are one thing, but his vocabulary? Another matter entirely).

“I’ll talk to him in the morning,” he decides, hoping that his resolution perseveres through the night.

“First thing?” Yuzu prompts.

Ichigo nods. “First thing. I’ll find him right before breakfast, you’ll see.”

They don’t, in the end, but only because Tōshirō comes looking for _him_ instead. An early-riser to the likes of which Ichigo has yet to accustom himself to, the Junrinan prince announces his presence at the door just shy of dawn; Ichigo, deeply enthralled in the realms of his dreams, doesn’t think much beyond an acquiescing grunt, and then quite promptly doesn’t think at all as he spots Tōshirō hovering at the side of the bed.

“I was led to believe that you would be awake at this hour,” Tōshirō explains, looking pleasantly flushed as Ichigo lurches into awakening and scrambles for rationality in the depths of his bedsheets.

“What - no - _lies_ ,” Ichigo blurts, scrubbing a bed-head hairdo out of his eyes. “ _Blasphemy_. Where’s the hamster?”

Tōshirō glances around as if there could be a hamster hidden anywhere but in Ichigo’s dreams.

“Sheesh, god, sorry,” the Karakura prince rambles, wondering if he looks as deathly tired as he sounds. (Probably, but Tōshirō is definitely politely enough not to comment). “What did you need? I’ll wake up in a minute, I swear.”

“I brought coffee,” Tōshirō says instead of answering, smiling in that faint way of his. He lifts the silver tray a fraction higher, making the cups and saucers clink together.

Like a bloodhound fixated, Ichigo snaps sluggish eyes towards the tray. “Coffee? Yes. I could _kiss you_.”

Tōshirō doesn’t laugh, but the fact that he begins pouring the coffee rather than hightailing it out of the room is a promising sign. Not that Ichigo is cognisant enough to comprehend this, but Tōshirō doesn’t seem affronted by this either, dutifully passing over the _sinfully_ strong coffee to Ichigo’s reaching hands.

Ichigo chugs it as subtly as possible - a laughable prospect - but less than thirty seconds later he is silently pleading for another cup, tipping the porcelain hopefully towards the tray. Taking pity, Tōshirō pours him another cup, and then softly refuses a drink of his own when Ichigo is alert enough to realise he is the only one enjoying the caffeine.

By the bottom of the second cup, Ichigo has become the prince that he usually presents to the breakfast table. Granted, he hasn’t left the warm bundle of his bedsheets and is still clothed in little more than a vest and trousers, but his thoughts make sense and his tongue has remembered how to stop, and that’s honestly the most princely thing about him. Tōshirō, on the other hand, is immaculate from his dress to his posture, somehow achieving elegance while perched on the side of Ichigo’s bed, and Ichigo would be impressed if it were not for the fact that he doesn’t _want_ his fiancé courtly and pristine while in such close quarters to a _bed_.

“I take it Hyorinmaru is back?” Ichigo asks, deciding not to prolong the conversation any longer. He keeps the cup just to distract his hands from reaching for Tōshirō’s own.

“Yes,” says Tōshirō, pulling an unopened envelope from within his kimono. He hands it over, paraphrasing, “This is from your father. Your family and kingdom are safe, but the king shares your concerns over Karakura’s borders with Seireitei and Wandenreich. Hyorinmaru passed over Wandenreich unseen and unharmed, but he reported that the land was busy with activity, and many eyes were turned to the sky.”

Ichigo nods, reading his father’s exact words in the letter. It seems that Wandenreich has not responded to any contact in the past few months, setting the neighbouring kingdoms on high alert. Seireitei seem to be undecided between tightening their borders and charging through Karakura to prepare for an undetermined future at the front lines.

“What is your relationship with Seireitei?” Tōshirō asks.

 _Mutual ignorance_ , Yuzu had said. Ichigo is inclined to agree, but he elaborates for Tōshirō: “It’s a bit rocky, but we are at peace. I may or may not have been directly involving in their civil war seven years ago, and my dad has history with the Gotei Thirteen. We have mutually benefited from brushing that under the carpet though.”

“And Wandenreich?”

“Karakura is not affiliated with Wandenreich,” Ichigo says neutrally. “We travelled through Kagamino, to the east, on our journey up here. You are at peace with Wandenreich?”

“Yes,” Tōshirō says, and his sigh adds _but for how long?_

Ichigo folds up the letter and sets it aside. Thinking back to the conversation with his guards and sister the night before, he wonders how to phrase his next question. He considers being subtle, and he considers asking outright, and eventually decides to fall somewhere in between: honest, vague, but not vague enough to imply anything other than his true feelings.

“Is Junrinan in any position to respond to a declaration of war?”

He means _will you retaliate to Wandenreich_ , he means _will you come to the aid of your allies_ , and he means _will you defend your borders and my own_ , and Tōshirō does not hesitate before replying, yet there seems a heavy pause in the air.

“No,” says the regent, strong and sound. “But we will be.”

And then he smiles, truly smiles, and for the first time Ichigo notices that the room has begun to warm, as though the early morning light was waiting for its prince to beckon the day.

“After all,” Tōshirō says. “We’re getting married, aren’t we?”

Ichigo can’t put into words how his heart somersaults with glee.

“ _Yes_ , of course, yes,” he breathes, realising belatedly that it now sounds as if it is _he_ that has been proposed to, and not Tōshirō as his daydreaming had predicted. “I mean - but -”

“But?”

“I want to marry you, but not just for politics,” Ichigo admits, and as he does, the rest of his confession comes tumbling out like his pre-coffee thoughts and the snores of his dreams. “And I was thinking about this last night, because I know that a marriage means a treaty, but if you don't want to marry me for anything other than politics, then you shouldn’t. I asked my dad and he agreed - we can draw up another contract, we can even wait to see what happens with Wandenreich, but I still can promise that we'll still come to your aid if you need it. Married or not. I like you, Tōshirō, I like you a lot, and I don’t want you to feel obliged or - or -”

“I’d be honoured to rule at your side,” Tōshirō interrupts, fond, amused, and reaching across the bed to place a hand atop Ichigo’s knee. “As equals. As your spouse.”

Ichigo clacks his jaw shut for the entire five seconds it takes to process Tōshirō’s answer; the softness of his eyes, the dimple at his cheek, and the touch of his skin through Ichigo’s trouser-leg, small, assured, and surprisingly warm for someone who reigns over the snow.

“I’d like to kiss you now,” Ichigo says.

Tōshirō’s eyes pinch with his smile. “Yes,” he begins to reply. “You already said -”

Ichigo cuts him off with a press of lips against jaw; of a smile, _allowed_ , against Tōshirō’s skin, and then kisses him again on the cheek, twice, in a slightly wonky repetition as the Junrinan’s face lights up in a blush. He leans close, as close as he can, and finds Tōshirō’s hand amidst the bedsheets; the silver tray wobbles beside them, cups clattering in echo of Ichigo’s heart, and both princes smile as their mouths meet to kiss and kiss.

“I should ask,” Tōshirō mutters, admirably pensive for a man whose nose keeps bumping against somebody else’s. Ichigo hums, encouraging him on, but still finds the time to nip Tōshirō’s lip in the space between his breath.

“You’re insatiable,” reprimands the wintry prince. “I take it you’ve wanted to do this for a while?”

“Yep,” Ichigo says, smirking. Smaller, more bony fingers squeeze his hand, definitely scolding him this time, and so Ichigo dutifully pulls back to consider the dip of Tōshirō’s brow.

“What were you - ?”

“Do you know what ‘asexual’ means?”

Blissfully entrapped in the feel of his betrothed against him, Ichigo pauses for a very long, very telling moment at the question; long enough for Tōshirō’s smile to melt away as Ichigo’s thoughts slam and crash and come together into a calamity of total clarity.

“You don’t find me attractive.”

“No,” Tōshirō says, the force of his reassurance surprising them both. “That’s not entirely true,” he continues, softer, hoping to explain. Silver wisps of hair brush against Ichigo’s cheek as Tōshirō shakes his head; he turns Ichigo’s larger hand over in his own, and they both glance down at this union between them.

“Your laugh is attractive, as is your sense of humour. I’m fond of your confidence, and I admire your love for your family and friends, and your willingness to learn and try new things. I like watching you read and hearing you mutter to yourself. Your facial expressions are particularly entertaining, and I like it when you smile. I want to make you laugh, and hold your hand, and fall asleep beside you. But most of all I want to make you happy, so I suppose you could say I am _attracted_ to the prospect, and attracted to each opportunity I have of spending time with you. But you’re right. Sex isn’t something I think about, or desire, and while I can appreciate that you are particularly handsome, your appearance isn’t what draws me to you.”

In his twenty-two years of life, Ichigo has never been so flattered. Beyond discussions of science, literature, and falconry, it is the most he has heard Tōshirō say in one go, and it’s clear, obviously so, in the way Tōshirō seems out of breath. His confession has dumbfounded himself just as it has elucidated everything that Ichigo already knew about his husband-to-be, and Ichigo grins, letting the sun of his soul shine through.

“Does that bother you?” Tōshirō asks.

“Only in the sense that it means Yuzu was _right_ ,” Ichigo laughs, wanting to bridge this final gap between them and dot another kiss onto the other’s nose. At Tōshirō’s questioning noise, he laughs some more, recalling his sister’s supernatural insight: “She said you were ‘intellectually interested’ me, and I said - I said I thought you were only interested in me as a source of entertainment.”

Tōshirō laughs a little helplessly, something he has come to do more often in Ichigo’s presence. “Well, neither of you were far off the mark.”

“Hey!”

Tōshirō shushes him with a kiss - and then many, many more.

The war can wait an hour.

Rukia, on the other hand, cannot. Barging into their prince’s quarters unannounced is commonplace for all of Ichigo’s guards - except Inoue, polite, kind Inoue - and Ichigo usually cares as much for this as he cares about King Yamamoto’s disapproving-eyebrow stare (which is to say, not much). Only, when Rukia comes ambling in with the intention of pillow-fighting Ichigo into awakening to find him and their hosting royalty quite graciously _snogging_ , she freezes in the doorway, seeming torn between sheer panic and fist-pumping at her friend’s success.

When comparing her and Tōshirō, Ichigo isn't sure who looks more embarrassed. Rukia dives back out after rushing through an apology, no doubt speeding away to spread the word, and Ichigo curses his misfortune even as he resettles back into a lazy slouch at Tōshirō’s side.

“Well,” Tōshirō says, pointedly _not_ looking at Ichigo’s smirk. “I suppose that was our wake-up call.”

Ichigo groans, realising that their privacy has come to an end. Reluctant to stray far from the bed, he returns to idly appreciating his betrothed’s physique, but mumbles an apology into Tōshirō’s neck all the same. His friends are going to be _merciless_ when he sees them next, but hopefully they’ll keep their teasing far away from Junrinan’s prince.

“It’s no bother; it’s about time we convened for breakfast anyway. We should speak to my grandmother at the earliest opportunity to discuss the details of this alliance - and I suppose the council will be eager to hear of the news of Wandenreich. I must instruct Matsumoto and the kingdom’s soldiers as well…”

“Busy day,” Ichigo notes, twirling a lock of blizzardy hair about his finger.

“Yes,” Tōshirō sighs, sounding just as saddened by the duties that call them. “There is much to be done. The gyrfalcons will need feeding as well.”

“Me too,” Ichigo says, his stomach growling on cue. The couple share a moment of laughter, and then a longer moment of affection, pressing kisses into wherever they can reach. “But after that, is there anything I can do to help? I’m up for anything.”

“Anything? Then _you_ can face my grandmother.”

Horror obliterates the lingering lull of the peaceful morn. “Wha - by _myself?_ ” Ichigo babbles, hoping his fiancé’s smile means he’s joking. “Your gran’s _terrifying_ \- I mean, the _queen_ is -”

“I think she’d like it if you called her ‘gran’,” Tōshirō says almost idly, clearly relishing in his partner’s fear.

“She’s still four feet of _terror_. I don’t think I could face her on my own.”

“And here I thought I was marrying a man who had charged unheeding into Seireitei?”

“I can go and get Chad if you’d prefer.”

It becomes _beautifully_ apparent that Tōshirō snorts when he is overcome with laughter, and Ichigo watches his partner splutter and wheeze with a chest tight with desire, feeling as though the war is another world away. They will have to move soon - Ichigo will have to get _dressed_ \- but he cherishes this easy banter all of the same. He is happy, happier than he thought he ever could be, and lying here now with Tōshirō at his side is a promise of brighter things to come.

Overjoyed, Ichigo cannot help but tease. “I don’t know why you’re laughing, I’m sure Chad would make a _great_ husband. His waffles are literally to die for, and I have never met a guy with such a massive sweet tooth. He made these chocolate ganache macarons once and I’m sure I ate half the box.”

“That sounds like _you_ have the sweet-tooth.”

“Shush,” Ichigo says, kissing his partner because he isn’t quite sure he could bring himself to initiate the ‘flicking and poking’ stage. “You’d understand if you ever tried Chad’s baking.”

“Well, you’ll have to give me the opportun -”

A knock at the door makes them both groan. It is Matsumoto, announcing herself from the corridor, and news _must_ be travelling fast for the Junrinan lieutenant to come looking for her prince at Ichigo’s quarters. Tōshirō assures her that he’ll be right there and slides off the bed, dotting one last kiss into the cluster of freckles across Ichigo’s nose.

“Wait - before you go,” Ichigo calls, scrambling over the duvet as if to beckon his fiancé back towards him. Tōshirō pauses just before the door, turning around with a perplexed expression, and then raises an eyebrow at Ichigo’s awe-inspiring grin.

“Humour me for a second and say ‘nefarious’ would you?”

Tōshirō doesn’t outright question the odd request, but he hesitates before saying, “...Nefarious?”

“No, no, gods,” Ichigo laughs. “Say it like you’re this evil mastermind and you’re revealing some wicked plot to me.”

The other eyebrow goes up. “...Is this something I should be worried about?”

Ichigo is ashamed to admit that his mind _instantly_ plummets aroused and uncomfortable into the gutter, and Tōshirō’s ethereal (and frankly misguided) air of innocence doesn’t help at all.

“Just - oh my god never mind, forget I said anything -”

“ _Nefarious_.”

“ _God_ \- okay, okay god um - say it again?”

“Did it not work for you the first time?” Tōshirō asks, faintly concerned.

 _Oh, it worked for me_ , Ichigo definitely does _not_ say. Instead, he emits a noncommittal noise and considers burying his face in the pillow before adding: “And maybe you could say ‘discombobulate’ because that would be amazing.”

“To be truthful, _I_ am discombobulated at the moment,” Tōshirō replies, sounding so, and Ichigo laughs so hard that his sides seem to pound against his ribcage and squeeze all rational air from his lungs.

Tōshirō gives him a stern, _you-never-cease-to-amaze-me_ look, and then wisely excuses himself from the room without asking for an explanation.

Just before the door clicks shut, he ducks his snowy head back inside and says over the sound of Ichigo’s roaring laughter:

“You still have to face down my grandmother, you know.”

And Ichigo’s gasps _shit!_ before tangling in the duvet and plummeting off of the bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Please leave your thoughts as you go!


End file.
